


Rescue

by Silencing



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silencing/pseuds/Silencing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hurt/Comfort - The Batplane goes down in an abandoned outpost, leaving Batman grievously injured.  Nightwing has to do the best he can to keep him together until help arrives.  Bonus fluff porn in ch2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Wake up, Bruce. Please wake up. We have to get out of here.”

At first, all Bruce knew was the sound of Dick’s voice, and pain. The pain was most prominent – it blotted out everything, burned out all of his other senses until there was nothing but the scrambled buzzing of nerve impulses telling him he was in agony. It was too big to find the source, though he could tell he was bleeding, and badly. None of his limbs would obey him, nor his throat and tongue, and that worried him more than anything else.

But Dick’s voice-

He clung to that thin thread of reality, dragging himself to consciousness by the garbled words just barely making sense in his brain. If the pain hadn’t clued him in, Dick’s voice would’ve been enough to tell him how bad things were. 

Bruce began the process of compartmentalizing his pain, assigning each cluster of nerves to a body part and each body part to an injury. He’d broken a few bones at least, smashed his hand, possible concussion, multiple lacerations, contusions, internal bruising. He tasted blood in his mouth and wondered if he was breathing it, or it’d come from an external source – there was too much damage for him to tell. It took all of his willpower simply to hold his mind together, much less move his body in any useful way.

He forced his eyes open and found himself staring up at Dick, his body backlit by the evening sky. A thin trail of smoke coiled up from somewhere behind him. Dick looked like he’d come through ok, though it was hard to tell – Bruce’s vision was still a bit fuzzy and unfocused, and the lack of light made it even more difficult to see him clearly.

“Oh, thank god.” Dick crouched down beside him and eased an arm under his shoulders. Bruce managed to bite back a noise of pain but couldn’t stop himself from flinching away from the touch. He wanted to tell Dick that it was ok – that he had to get him on his feet, no matter what. He wanted to tell him not to worry about hurting him further. Bruce trusted Dick to know how to handle an injured body. But his throat wasn’t quite working yet, and he couldn’t manage more than a garbled groan.

Dick put on a brave face and hauled him upright, and Bruce was forced to lean almost his entire weight on him. Something was wrong with his left leg, and the change in orientation put further pressure on his lungs. His suit helped keep him stable, holding his broken ribs in place and supporting his injured leg, but it was also an added weight to bear. To make matters worse they seemed to be in some kind of debris field with broken walls and blocks of concrete to bar their way. He could just make out a twisted spur of metal jutting up from one of the shattered walls. So, that was where the smoke had come from. 

“Let’s just take it slow, boss, ok? One step at a time.” Dick started down the small mound of rubble Bruce had been laying on, one arm hooked securely around Bruce’s shoulders. He was struggling to stay up even with his superb balance, and Bruce reevaluated his earlier assessment. Dick was probably more hurt than he’d let on.

Escaping the ruined building felt like it took hours. Bruce was sure he’d passed out more than once, but Dick kept him on his feet the whole time, though he was shaking badly by the time they made it to level ground. He was scared, but he was doing his best to hide that from Bruce, which meant that he was scared for him.

Every step blended into the next, and Bruce couldn’t focus on anything more than staying conscious as Dick guided them slowly, painfully, into the shelter of an abandoned but intact building down the street. Bruce realized vaguely that the whole place seemed empty, and he figured he ought to know why, but that seemed less important than remembering how to breathe just then.

They reached a set of stairs leading to the second floor of the building, and Bruce at last lost his tenuous grip on consciousness. The last thing he remembered before darkness claimed him was Dick’s sharp, panicked cry and a pair of strong arms slowing his fall.

~*~

Dick perched on the end of the sagging mattress, head in his hands. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t allow himself to sleep, not until Bruce was out of the woods. His breathing was still alarmingly shallow, and Dick wasn’t sure he’d completely stopped his bleeding. A trail of rust-red led directly from the crash site to their hide-out, but there was nothing Dick could do about that. If the baddies came, they’d find them one way or the other. He’d just have to be ready when they did.

He’d gotten off a distress beacon just before the Batplane had crashed, so with any luck, they’d have help quicker than the enemy could find them. No one knew where they’d gone. It’d been a secret mission, just the two of them, and it should’ve just been easy recon work, but the goons they’d come looking for had known they were coming and had gunned them down. Dick wasn’t sure yet to be thankful or worried that they’d come down in this abandoned outpost. It afforded them plenty of cover, but help would be slow in arriving. 

Bruce made a pained sound in his sleep and Dick hurried to check on him, laying his ear against his chest to listen to his breathing. It was still ragged and hoarse, but he seemed to be breathing easier. Dick tucked the stained sheet up around him again, wincing as he glanced at his bruised face. Bruce had thrown himself over Dick’s body, taking the worst of the impact and probably saving Dick’s life.

Dick hadn’t gotten out clean, either, and realized he should probably tend to his own injuries. Pure adrenaline had allowed him to support Bruce’s weight and to carry him up the stairs to this room, but fear and instinct were slowly giving way to pain and exhaustion, and he’d be no good to Bruce if he didn’t take care of himself. 

A little digging around had uncovered a small, empty plastic trashcan, and he filled it up with warm water from the bathroom and dragged it back into the living room where Bruce lay. He didn’t want to be away from him longer than necessary. Circumstances kept him from being self-conscious as he stripped his suit off, careful of the places were ragged edges stuck to his wounds. A quick inspection of his body turned up nothing more serious than a sprained wrist and a deep laceration on his torso. He washed the dirt and blood – not all of it his own – off his skin with a rough cloth, then brought out the first aid kit that’d been stashed on Bruce’s utility belt to stitch himself up. He’d used up most of the sterile thread and several needles on Bruce, but there was just enough left for the worst of his cuts.

Midway through a nasty one on his forearm, he heard Bruce stir and saw him open his eyes a fraction. He felt simultaneous relief and concern for him – though he was conscious, he was far from his usual self.

“Should be doing that for you,” Bruce said, his voice thick and hoarse and halting. “Easier with two hands.”

“You’d only stick me full of holes,” Dick replied with a weak grin. He finished up the row of stitches as quickly as he could and nipped the thread off, then moved to kneel beside Bruce, resting a hand on his chest. “That’s fine in the practice room, but one of us needs to keep blood loss to a minimum.”

Bruce must’ve felt pretty loopy still, because Dick could’ve sworn he saw his lips twitch into a smile. “I assume I’m in a bad state.”

“You’ve had worse,” Dick said. “At least it wasn’t a bomb this time.”

Bruce nodded slightly, his eyes sliding shut once more. Dick could feel his breathing even out beneath his hand, and thought he’d dropped off again. Just as he made to stand back up and return to his own triage, Bruce tilted his head to look at him again and said, “Saved my life again.”

Dick ignored the fact that it was probably only the pain and tiredness making him so generous. That was more praise than he’d had from Bruce in a long time, and it warmed him to his core. He smiled, a real and genuine smile this time, and squeezed Bruce’s hand beneath the sheets.

“No more than you’ve always done for me.”

This time, Dick was sure he saw a smile as Bruce drifted off again.

~*~

Help arrived nine hours later. Bruce was stable, but by no means well again, and Dick had to endure a round of rapid-fire questioning from Tim as they flew back to Gotham. He hadn’t slept more than a few minutes at a stretch, and all he wanted to do now that they were out of danger was pass out and let his body rest. Bruce was back in capable hands – Alfred would tidy up the botched job Dick had done, and Bruce would no doubt be back on the streets in a few days’ time. 

Now that he didn’t have to worry about keeping them alive anymore, guilt over what’d happened crept back in. There were so many things he could’ve done differently, but he’d let Bruce down. Several times over the hours, whenever he’d roused himself, Bruce had mentioned how grateful he was for Dick’s presence, how glad he was to have him nearby in such a dire situation. It’d probably been the delirium talking. He wouldn’t remember any of it later. 

When they got back to the manor, Dick retired to his old room to sleep, hoping he’d lose his morose guilt with his exhaustion. He didn’t leave without telling Alfred to update him on Bruce’s condition, though, and had even contemplated staying with him a while longer, but Alfred shooed him away before he could entrench himself in the Cave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick manages to convince Bruce to share a therapeutic bubble bath.

Bruce took a longer time to heal than Dick had anticipated. His leg, especially, gave him trouble, and somehow Alfred managed to keep him in the manor rather than letting him go out on patrol with a brace on. As a result, Bruce patrolled the Cave and the manor with restless energy, morose and easily annoyed. Dick steered well clear of him, positive that Bruce was angry at him for his failure, but despite the size of the house, it was almost impossible to avoid him entirely.

Several days after the rescue, he ran into him at the foot of the stairs, struggling to walk up them without the use of his crutches. He looked angry, and Dick’s first instinct was to turn around and leave him be, but it was painful to watch him struggle on his bad leg, and Dick was sure he’d already strained himself. He came down cautiously, waiting for a sharp dismissal, but Bruce ignored him until Dick reached out a hand to help.

“I’ve got this,” Bruce grunted, waving him off. Dick knew he didn’t – he was having muscle tremors (Bruce never did anything so weak as ‘shake’ or ‘tremble’), and slight twitches in his expression betrayed the pain he was feeling. He’d probably declined the proper dose of painkillers out of sheer stubbornness.

“Alright, let me lean on you, then,” Dick replied, determined to be just as pig-headed as Bruce. That didn’t usually work out for him, but he couldn’t sit back and watch Bruce struggle. “I’m not so steady on the stairs yet, myself.”

Bruce eyed him, unimpressed, but held out his arm anyway. “You’re in perfectly good health, Dick. Hardly a scratch.”

Dick smiled and took his arm, shifting his weight subtly until Bruce was leaning on him. “It’s all internal. Ask Alfred. I’m in pretty rough shape.”

Bruce ignored that, but Dick could tell he was grateful for the help, even if he’d never admit it. They made their way to the top of the stairs, and Dick realized where Bruce was headed. Despite lingering anxiety over his failure during their botched mission, he sensed a golden opportunity opening up to him and pounced on it before he could overthink it.

“I’m having trouble washing this one spot on my back – I can’t see well enough to scrub around the stitches,” he said, not quite meeting Bruce’s eye. “Think you could help me out with that?”

It wasn’t his smoothest proposition, but Bruce cracked a thin smile at the offer nonetheless. “I suppose I could. I can already see you’re not going to give me any privacy.”

“Not in the slightest,” Dick grinned, warmed by Bruce’s acceptance. It was a rare thing to have the man all to himself, no business or justice to interfere. Bruce’s defenses were down just a fraction, and Dick latched onto the opportunity like a barnacle.

The bathroom tile was cold underfoot, and Dick hurried to run them a bath, testing the water until it was just barely tolerable. He knew Bruce’s preference for near-scalding showers and followed the same rule here. After a moment’s thought, he added a splash of bubble bath, ignoring Bruce’s protests.

“It smells great, and it’s perfectly sanitary,” Dick said, holding out the bottle for him to sniff. “You can’t have a proper bath without bubbles.”

“I’m beginning to regret inviting you along,” Bruce muttered, though he did seem pleased with the bright, citrus scent of the soap.

“That’s too bad. You’re stuck with me now.”

When the tub was half full, the water’s surface covered in a layer of light, fluffy bubbles, Dick eased Bruce’s robe off his shoulders and gestured for him to get in. Bruce lowered himself slowly into the hot water, letting out a sigh of pure pleasure that sent sparks down Dick’s nerves. He felt himself responding to the sight of Bruce’s naked body, even with the patchwork of healing injuries covering his skin, and fought to suppress his arousal. Bruce noticed the miniscule signs, of course, and looked him over with an amused expression that did little to help the situation.

“I can’t scrub your back from here, Dick.”

Dick hurried out of his own clothes and climbed into the tub behind Bruce, quelling his protests with a kiss to the back of his neck. “I was lying about my back. You need help more than I do.”

“I can still throw you out of here, little man,” Bruce growled, but made no move to carry out his threat. Dick could practically feel him fighting off a smile.

“You can try.”

Dick lathered up Bruce’s shoulders and back with the citrus soap, enjoying the way his hands slid easily over Bruce’s scarred skin. The tub was large enough to hold the both of them easily, and he had his knees around Bruce’s sides, with Bruce’s hands running slowly up and down his ankles and calves. It was a level of intimacy they rarely shared, and as always, Dick could hardly believe he was getting to touch Bruce so freely. 

He kneaded his fingers into his shoulders, working out the ever-present tension there, biting his lip at Bruce’s low groan of contentment. He was sure Bruce was playing with him, teasing him by showing even slight reactions to the work of his hands. Usually Dick was the one making all the noise.

“You see? This isn’t so bad,” Dick said, kissing the back of Bruce’s neck again. “It can be your once-a-year moment of relaxation.”

“Very funny, Dick.”

“Might as well make the most of it, right?”

Dick took a chance and eased a hand under Bruce’s chin to tip his head back, expecting resistance, but to his surprise Bruce leaned back without a fight. His eyes were closed, his face serene, and Dick had to resist the urge to drag him into a kiss. Instead, he poured water from his cupped hands over his hair, and then worked a drop of shampoo into it, combing his fingers through his dark locks. This time he had Bruce practically purring, so relaxed with the heat of the water and Dick’s hands on him that he’d dropped a measure of his restraint.

Dick kept quiet until he’d rinsed Bruce’s hair clean, afraid of shattering the moment. By now he was aroused beyond hiding it, seduced by this rare glimpse into this side of Bruce’s personality. The man had a deeply buried taste for luxury, and he was getting off on this, too.

Bruce lay back against his chest, a warm, solid, comforting weight pressing him against the edge of the tub. Dick could feel his deep, steady, even breathing and remembered how hard it’d been for him to draw a lungful of air just days ago. Impulsively, he wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, hiding his face against his shoulder.

“You saved my life, Dick,” Bruce said quietly, taking one of Dick’s hands in his own. “Whatever mistakes were made, they weren’t yours alone.”

Dick tangled his fingers in Bruce’s wet hair and twisted around to kiss him, fierce and hungry, clinging to him with all the passion and need he hadn’t been able to show before now. He’d almost lost him again, and every time it happened it brought home how much he needed him.

They broke away after a moment, Dick gasping for breath, Bruce visibly flushed. Bruce caught Dick’s arm and guided him to slide around in front of him, water threatening to slosh over the side of the tub. Dick found himself sitting in Bruce’s lap, Bruce’s cock pressed hot and hard against his lower back. He moaned and leaned against him, tipping his head to allow him to kiss his neck, savoring the feel of Bruce’s big hands wandering his body.

“I think you might deserve a thank-you for that,” Bruce said, nuzzling his ear.

Dick couldn’t resist laughing at that. “Really, Bruce? A thank-you? I think I might faint.”

Bruce was quick to cut off his clever retorts. Soon enough, all Dick could do was moan.


End file.
